


All's Fair

by SaoirseKennedy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Lots of Angst, M/M, i mean it's war man, no deaths don't worry, some violence, the last patrol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseKennedy/pseuds/SaoirseKennedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis Nixon and Richard Winters have made it work in war torn Europe. But Dick can be stubborn and blinded by his concern for his troops, including Lew. Lewis is trying to not feel useless. The war is almost over and he's never fired his gun. </p>
<p>Meanwhile David and Joe resort to in-fighting. Despite their obvious connection, they just can't seem to connect. Something drastic has to happen for them to finally understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Fair

**Author's Note:**

> this is just something i did based on a prompt i got. it's been floating around for a while. there will be one last chapter added soon.

Silence echoed through David’s mind. There was no thought, no feeling between his ears. There was only numbness; a sense of doom that was so overwhelming his mind couldn’t bear to process it. In the sopping wet of coming spring in Europe, David trotted around Hagenau alone. France was filled with people he knew, faces that had smiled at him in his C-47 as he dropped into France the first time. Now there was the stench of death on them, the light never quite reaching dull eyes. 

In his misery, Webster decided that he deserved his fate. Four months in a hospital, going to rehab for a leg wound. Had he been Guarnere or Toye, he would’ve marched straight back to his division when he could walk again. Heck, that is exactly what Toye did. Now both of them were gone, legs torn off in the hell of Bastogne. Bitter bile rose up at the thought of better men than him, ripped to pieces. 

As he expected, the men of Easy Company avoided him like the plague. Contempt flooded their faces at the sight of David’s fresh OD’s. He still flinched at the sound of bombs, his eyes were brightly alive, hot with fear. For the most part David said as little as possible, closing in on himself. He got himself back into second platoon, and gratefully tucked himself away until orders were handed out. 

“Welcome back Private.” Captain Winters voice was gruff and he looked worse for wear behind his impromptu desk. David saluted him, trying to focus on his superior instead of the vague warlike noises going on in the background. 

“Sir, I think you should put Lt. Jones on the patrol tonight.” Normally such forward suggesting would be way out of Webster’s league, but he desperately wanted to get into the men’s good graces again. He thought this might help. 

A brief flick of blue eyes up at David set his back straight. “Why is that?” 

“Sergeant Malarkey, I’m aware he lost Muck and Penkala in Bastogne,” There was a physical tension in the room. “Now that Guarnere and Toye are out too, I think Don could use a break.” David knew Malarkey didn’t actually hold much against Webster for missing the nastiest battle in the war. He was too soft-hearted. David knew Don wouldn’t want him to go through what he did. Don was beloved and if David could get him to cool his jets, maybe others would think he was useful for something other than complaining. 

“Very well.” Dick stood up, walking out of the room. Webster followed. “Any other requests, Private?” The words had a faint hardness in them uncharacteristic of Dick Winters. 

As they rounded the corner David saw Liebgott asleep on his bunk. His stomach dropped, and his breathing became wobbly for a half-second. Weak frustration wrinkled his brow. 

“I think Joe should stay here as well.” This garnered a surprised look from Dick. They were in front of a few boxes of supplies, and Dick began picking around. 

“That’s awfully generous of you, especially considering how much you two bicker.” Dick’s mouth twitched in the way that meant he wanted to smirk. “I wouldn’t think you’d do any favors for someone who causes you so much grief.” 

“We don’t need more than one translator, sir.” David watched as Dick picked up a few packs of smokes and a chocolate bar. “I thought you didn’t smoke, sir.” 

“What?” Dick wasn’t looking at him. “Oh, yeah I don’t.” Before David could glance at him quizzically, Lewis Nixon strode up to them. 

“Is that you Webster?” Nix looked genuinely happy to see David. They had a weird bond that no one could figure out. Maybe it was because they were both from New York, or the fact that they went to Ivy League schools. Both their family situations weren’t the best, and David knew he could always confide in Nix. It was a fast, personal friendship David was glad to see had survived through the winter. 

“Captain Nixon.” David’s voice was a breathy sigh of relief. 

“Back so soon, Lew?” Dick considered Nix, eyes trailing down his unshaven face. There was a hazy look that passed between them when Dick handed Nix the smokes. David felt like he had happened upon something rather intimate. 

“Oh well recon missions aren’t what they used to be.” 

“Sir?” Webster tried to reign in the situation. 

Dick’s head swerved back to Webster’s. “You sure you want to go alone?” Clear headed Dick had successfully held onto the conversation topic. 

Webster’s face involuntarily turned towards the still sleeping Joe. “Yes, sir.” 

“Alright, son. Hang tough.” 

“What a goddamn hero, Webster.” Nix put a cigarette in his mouth as Dick rolled his eyes. Webster grimaced, hoping no one heard. 

Webster saluted the pair, slinking past rows of bunk beds that held broken men, groaning in their sleep. In the fresh air outside, David thought at the possibility of dying that night. 

It wasn’t that he was particularly scared of dying. Part of him thought it was rather poetic. Besides, he saw what the survivors looked like. Sometimes it was hard to tell who the lucky bastards were; the ones who made it home, or the ones buried in the foreign soil. That thought was chased from his mind when he saw his body replaced with Liebgott’s. Joe was so hot-headed, so full of life, it would be hard to imagine him not breathing, not yelling at David or cursing out Nazis. David sighed into the dense air. No, David didn’t have much to live for. Joe was a force, he was pure and violent. The world needed people like him in it. If Joe knew David had thought that he’d laugh at David’s pretentiousness, even when he wasn’t speaking. 

If David was completely honest, he knew he would do anything to keep Joe alive, even if Joe spent the rest of his life cursing David out. Liebgott had been avoiding David like all the other men, but he didn’t mind. He was ashamed, and felt he deserved Joe’s cruelty. 

That night, everyone gathered together before the patrol began. Joe had heard from Martin that Webster was taking his place. Joe would not make eye contact with David. Instead he chain-smoked during the intelligence meeting. Although he wasn’t expecting a thank you, Web was still irrationally irritated. Joe didn’t have to be at the meeting. All he was doing was clouding up the basement and glowering in Web’s general direction. 

At the river’s edge, David got ready to get into the boats that would take them across the river into German territory. It was dark and still. Web’s emotions were already frayed, and he became more frustrated as the night went on. 

“Need a brush up on your German, Kenyon?” Joe’s low voice was behind David. He didn’t bother turning around. “Since it’s been such a long time, ya know, since you’ve needed a skill like that?” David could hear the sneer. The other men around said nothing and kept their heads down. 

“Do you really want those to be your final words to me?” David allowed himself a glance back at Joe, whose eyes were steely. His fists were balled up. Silence covered up Joe’s mouth. David used it to his advantage. “Because think about it, Joe. I may not be your favorite, but do you want to think about me and what you said to me right before I died for the rest of your life?” Anger seethed out of him. He was mad at Liebgott, angry for what he made him feel. 

“You’re not going to die.” A second’s pause. “You’re not good enough.” Bull Randleman’s head popped up, a withering look on his face. David had just gotten his hands on Joe’s lapels, ready to shove him onto the ground and knock him out when Bull’s hands grabbed David’s shoulders. 

“I’m glad to see you two haven’t changed.” The comment was sarcastic, but a crease of worry formed in his forehead. David was shaking, resisting the urge to fight the grasp of Bull. How could someone who made him so furious mean as much to him as Joe did? 

As they softly got into the boats, David motioned with his finger for Joe to come to the water’s edge. Despite a dubious appearance, Joe stalked forward. David leaned over, half his body out of the rubber boat. “Ich hoffe dass ich tun.” Deep shadows burned in David’s ice blue eyes. 

“What?” Joe seemed lost. 

“I hope I do, Lieb!” A second of madness burst through David’s chest. “I fucking hope I do!” The men shushed David as they drifted from their side of the river. Horror flickered on Joe’s face, and he darted away from the river, back to the camp, away from Webster. 

  
  


He retched into the damp grass. It was mostly water and stomach acid. It burned his esophagus with every heave, and his face was streaked with mud as he collapsed behind the bushes he had run to. 

David Webster was in enemy territory, the only translator of hostile enemies. Joe’s vision swirled as he looked up at the tree line from the ground. His face was flushed and his stomach knotted, even though it was empty. The overwhelming desire to scream hit him, but instead he squirmed around on the ground. 

“Joseph?” Only one person ever called Joe that. 

“Hey Doc.” His voice was pathetic, drained of every emotion. 

“Are you okay?” Roe’s voice was soft and gentle. 

“I’m an asshole.” There was just silent concern from Roe. “Don’t got much of a sense of humor do ya?” Joe looked up at Roe, who shook his head. 

“Maybe if you said something funny I’d laugh.” That stung Joe, who looked away. He eventually sat up when Doc didn’t go away.

“What are you doing out here?” Joe hadn’t made it very far from the shore line before he had retched up his dinner.

“I want to be ready when they come back.” Roe looked out at the horizon. Fear and guilt threatened to send Joe heaving into the grass again. 

“Do you think it’ll be bad?” Joe failed at a casual tone. 

“No. They’ll be okay, Joe.” Doc gave him a sympathetic smile, and Joe huffed at his kindness. “Why don’t you go back and get some shut eye?” Joe was cold, but he doubted he’d be able to fall asleep. He nodded anyways and stood up. 

“Thanks, Doc.” Roe put his hand on Joe’s shoulder, pushing him gently back up the hill. How Doc was always so gentle, Joe didn’t know. 

 

“No.” Dick paced back and forth in the huge mess hall. Lewis was lounging on the ground, sipping from a flask and blinking up at Dick. 

“Why not?” Although he wasn’t drunk, Lew could feel his head swaying. “It’s either that, or someone’s going to get hurt.” 

Dick scrunched his face. “It’s not our place, Lew.” Dick glanced outside, looking for signs of activity. “Besides, they’d be onto us before we even started.” 

“Maybe we should just push them into a closet and lock them in.” Nix winked and Dick let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Let’s just wait to see if he gets back alive.” There was an awkward moment. “I’m sorry, Lew. I know you’re close to David.” 

“I could’ve gone.” It was a dumb statement. 

“You’re an intelligence officer.” Dick had stopped pacing and glared down at Lewis. 

“I can speak German.” The conversation was pointless, but Lew kept it spinning in circles. 

“So, what? You go and what?” 

“Lieb and Web can sort things out without worrying that one of them is going to bleed out.” Nix shrugged. “Too late. Maybe next time.” 

“What about me?” Dick’s blue eyes shimmered under his fair eyelashes. “You want me to wait here for you?” 

Nix took a deep breath. “How many times do you think I waited for you Dick?” Dick had headed countless missions, he led Easy Company fearlessly and efficiently. One thing both of them had learned was that it didn’t matter how good you were; sometimes you just get hit. 

Dick felt a twinge in his leg that had gotten dinged in Carentan. The fight went out of him and his chest decompressed. He stood there in silence, gazing down at Nix. His unshaven face was sporting just barely less than a beard. Despite the tension, he looked openly up at Dick. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. 

“You’re not going.” Dick pointed his finger at Lew, then at the window, towards the river. “He’s coming back and we’re going to let them figure it out.” 

Lew got up, eyes wide. “Okay.” He walked up to Dick, who was fuming. Soft hands were placed on tense shoulders. “I’m sorry.” 

Dick waited until his breathing returned to a calm rhythm. “You’re not going.” He repeated. 

 

“Hande hoch!” Webster screamed into the chaos. “Aufgeben du Nazi fickt!” The four Germans were huddled against a wall, staring down at the wounded American on the floor. They glanced up as David continue shouting angrily at them. His German was a little rusty, and he silently cursed Joe. 

Martin, Randleman, and Speirs rounded on the Germans, pushing them out of the room, spewing what limited German they knew. Luz and someone Webster didn’t know were dragging Jackson, the wounded replacement who had run into his own bomb, out of the decrepit house. Webster did a final check of the house before hearing the returning artillery fire outside. 

The night was alive with cracks and whizzing of bullets. David was panting, head whipping around. He vaguely registered fear in his stomach, but continued on down to the river. His rifle was cold and stiff in his hands. 

“Webster!” Martin’s voice was shrill, and David couldn’t find his face. He stopped, about halfway back to the rendezvous point. 

A flash of heat hit David’s face and he reeled back, dirt and debris hitting his body. Loud ringing in his ears rendered him deaf, and his eyes refused to open. His spine arched in pain and his lungs wouldn’t expand to receive any oxygen. He heard a faint whining noise escape his mouth. 

“Web!” Martin was beside him, trying to get Webster to stop squirming. “Come on stay still.” He grabbed Web’s wrists and put his bodyweight on him, stilling Webster’s legs. 

The ringing in David’s ears was still loud, but he saw Martin looking down at him, and he made an effort to breathe. “Johnny?” David tried to say. He felt Martin patting his body until his hands came back red. 

“That’s right Web.” A surly smirk lit up his face. “It’s not that bad, you’re going to be fine.” Martin looked around. “We have to go.” He heaved Webster’s bigger frame upwards. David reeled, his bones feeling like rubber. His stomach wobbled, but he struggled to keep his head up. 

“Randleman!” Martin gestured towards Web flopping next to him. In the muffled noise, Web heard footsteps rushing forwards to him. 

“I’m going to puke.” David was slung across Bull’s shoulder. 

“You get anything besides blood on me I’ll leave you here, college boy.” Bull’s grip was firm on David’s back. 

David was roughly placed into a boat. The cold rubber pushed into his face. Dull pain throbbed through his left shoulder and face. He could taste blood in his mouth and his body wouldn’t stop shivering. Shouts rang up around him and they started moving across the river. Once he tried sitting up, but it was as if his neck was made of jell-o, bouncing around, leaving Web reeling around like a fish out of water. 

Some time passed, but Web couldn’t say how much. His eyes was half-closed and he could feel blood ooze out of him. 

“How many?” A Cajun accent asked. 

“Just two. Take Jackson first, he got it right in the face.” The voices were disembodied, and Web again struggled futilely to gain a sense of direction. Someone grabbed Web’s shoulders and heaved him out of the boat. Wet grass shocked his cold skin and he gasped, pain hitting him anew. Above him he saw stars, although he was sure they were imaginary. It was a cloudy night. 

“Just hold tight, college boy.” Randleman wrapped a bandage around Web’s neck and prodded at his side. “How’s the head?” 

“I can’t lift it.” There was no use lying if he so blatantly couldn’t function. Just then a stretcher was placed beside Webster. Bull helped him onto it, then turned back, no doubt going back to where people were gathering around Jackson. 

David heard screaming and crying from down in the basement. The voices were German and American, but he couldn’t distinguish either of the languages. Someone was quietly working on him, patching up the holes on his left side. David was coherent enough to guess that a grenade had been tossed by him, exploding before he even knew it was there. The blast and proceeding fall to the ground had concussed his head. 

When the medic had gone, David wished he had the strength to pull a blanket from the bunk bed onto himself. He had been stripped of his jacket and shirt, so his battered skin was covered in goose flesh. The screaming below continued. Half the company was down there. David briefly wondered if he should try to scramble down there and be with the guys. Before he could follow through with anything, he slipped into unconsciousness. 

Web’s eyes snapped open a short time later. He could still hear noises around him, but the yelling downstairs had stopped. His throat was scratchy and dry. He was on his back, limbs splayed out over the small bed. It took a good deal of mental concentration to flip his body so he was lying on his side. Once there, he made an attempt to pull himself off the bed, but instead found himself on the floor. 

“What are you doing?” It was Nixon. 

“I’m thirsty.” Web said to the floor. He managed to pull himself up so he was leaning heavily against the bunk bed. 

Nixon pattered down the hall, then returned carrying a canteen. “Have mine.” 

Web drank gratefully. “Is he dead?” He couldn’t bring himself to say his name. 

“Yeah.” It was a low sigh. “Died right in Roe’s arms.” Nix pulled out his flask. 

“Shit.” Web took the flask out of Nix’s hands. He drained what little was left. “You know you shouldn’t drink so much.” 

“Just another reason to go see Winters.” When David stared at him, Lew laughed. “I hide alcohol in his footlocker.” 

“Ahh.” David was too tired to open that can of worms. He felt fried. They sat there like that, both tired for entirely different reasons. “I need some fresh air.” David grappled to stand up, his body screaming. He looked around for a shirt. 

As he was buttoning up a dirty shirt from under his bed, Nix sighed. “Are you ever going to talk to Joe?” David stiffened. 

“We talk all the time.” 

“Don’t be a smart ass.” Nix crossed his arms. “Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about.” Frustration crashed against Web’s eyelids. 

“He doesn’t want to hear it.” 

“I thought that about Dick.” A startled look passed onto David’s face. Lew laughed. “Back in Albourne.” Lewis looked away. “Well, actually we were in London.” 

“And?” David felt a tightness in his chest. 

“It just happened.” Lewis smiled briefly. “I don’t know David. I think it’s worth trying.” With that he nodded his head and went back down the hall. 

 

When they had returned, Liebgott was smoking behind a barn, staring up at the cloudy sky. Loud voices shouted, and Joe struggled to follow the band of men who rushed down to the basement. Four Germans were shouting, but Joe drowned them out. A bloody body was hidden under several jackets. 

Captain Winters was in the damp basement, hovering around Roe, who was busy trying to shush the fallen soldier. Someone was trying to quiet the Germans, but Joe noticed it wasn’t Webster. Hot gripping fear punched him in the gut, and he got closer to the man on the stretcher. He saw the flop of brown hair over the man’s face. A painful lurch hit his chest. It wasn’t Webster. Before he could stop them. hot tears streaked his face. 

The voices seemed louder and Joe couldn’t see, but he stumbled backwards, whipping his head, trying to find a familiar face. Everyone looked foreign. He took deep gulping breaths, trying desperately to think straight. 

“Joe, go upstairs.” Dick called above the noise. The man on the stretcher was screeching, and Dick moved to give Roe room. When he didn’t move, Dick stepped closer. “Joe. Now.” 

Joe didn’t even look up. “Yes, sir.” 

Sprinting up the stairs, Joe rushed past faces he couldn’t be bothered to notice. He still didn’t know where David was. The screams of the basement echoed through his head. He ran back to the barn he had been behind earlier. He slid down onto the ground, letting the tears fall in earnest. 

Guilt and grief poured out of him. David’s last words rang in his head.  _ I hope I do, Lieb. I hope I fucking do!  _ It took Joe several seconds to understand. If only Joe hadn’t spat venomous words at him, telling him he wasn’t good enough to die, Web wouldn’t have said that. Web didn’t want to die. Joe swallowed hard, willing himself to be calm. 

  
  


Lewis knocked softly on Dick’s door several hours after Jackson had died. It was two in the morning, but no one was sleeping. Dick himself was in his desk chair, staring dejectedly at the floor. 

“Are you okay?” Nix went to Dick and knelt in front of him. All he wanted to do was grab him, but Dick had been curt with him all day. 

“He ran into his own bomb.” Dick’s voice was gruff. “His own damn bomb.” He put his head in his hands for a second, making a frustrated sound. 

“I know.” Nix took a tentative step forward. 

“Have you seen Webster?” Dick got up abruptly, walking to the door. 

“Yeah. He’s severely concussed, and he caught some shrapnel on his left side, but he’s fine.” Lew stared as Dick closed the door, locking it behind him. “Dick?” 

Dick was stomping back to Lew. “What?” 

“I told him to talk to Joe.” 

“Do you think he will?” Dick stripped his tie off and leaned down to undo his boots. 

“It’s either that or self-implosion.” The humor fell flat. 

“Sink wants another patrol tomorrow night.” Dick’s voice was thick with anger. 

In risk of pushing Dick over the edge, Nix broke the silence. “You can’t send Liebgott.” 

“I’ll send Webster again then.” 

“Dick he can’t walk straight.” 

“It’s not your decision.” Dick threw his jacket into the corner. “The war doesn’t stop because Liebgott and Webster are fighting.” 

“They’ll make a mistake and the whole mission will be jeopardized.” Lew’s voice was slightly raised. 

“Right, Nix, I’ll send you, you’ll translate the meaningless screams of the Germans, then you’ll get hit by a stray bomb or bullet, even though you did everything right.” Dick was yelling. “Webster can’t stand, and for what? Because he did everything right!” 

“Let me do something, Dick! Let me help someone!” Lewis was standing, fists clenched. They glared at each other. Lew was Dick’s blind spot, and they both knew it. 

“Sit down.” Dick pointed to the bed. “Please.” Nixon rolled his eyes, but obliged. When he sat, Dick knelt down and undid the laces of Lew’s boots. It was an oddly tender gesture at the tail end of a heated exchange. Dick slipped the boots off and then slowly pushed Lew down on the bed. “Stay here tonight.” 

Nix sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

There was frantic pacing in the room next to Webster. It only sounded like one person, but it banged into his sore head. After Lew had left, David spent the next hour thinking about how best to approach Joe. He wanted to immediately go to him, but the angry look in Joe’s eyes before he went on the patrol deterred him. Maybe Nix was wrong. Joe wasn’t like Dick. So David laid down, his head throbbing. 

When the pacing began, Webster woke up from his troubled sleep. He glanced at his watch, which said 2:41am. He groaned internally. With all of his strength he sat up, waiting for his head to stop swaying. He stumbled around for a cigarette while making his way to the room next to him. It was a smaller room in the house, only housing two bunk beds before opening up into desks and couches. There was a small lamp on, but darkness filled the corners. 

David stood back and watched a silhouette dance on the walls. Clunky boots echoed through David’s chest. He stared at Joe’s soft brown hair, which was pushed back. Joe had clearly run his hands through it several times. There was a pain in his chest as he stared from the shadows. 

“Hey, Joe.” Webster leaned against the door frame. Joe stopped in his tracks, the endless pacing cut off abruptly. It was chokingly quiet. David walked forward, but stopped well short of Joe. “You heard about Jackson?” The bomb that hit him came back into Web’s mind, exploding over words he had never said. 

“Yeah of course.” Joe blinked once. He looked Web over once, his eyes bounding from the bruises on his shoulder to the black mark on the side of his face. “What happened to you?” 

“Grenade went off. Luckily I was far enough away that it didn’t do too much damage.” Webster felt jittery, but his head continued to weigh his mind down. 

“How do you feel?” Joe edged closer, his eyes betraying him. 

“Not great. It’s mostly just my head.” David was getting irritated with himself. He walked slowly, and sat down on Liebgott’s bunk. Joe didn’t say anything. He was scowling but his eyes weren’t in it. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest. 

“Did they have anything important to say?” David squinted. “The Germans.” 

“Oh. No I don’t think so. I was a little rusty.” Web laughed, but it was hollow. “You were right, I needed to brush up.”

Joe huffed. “Don’t fucking start.” 

“What?” 

“All that self-deprecating bullshit, Web.” 

“It’s true, Lieb.” David didn’t feel like arguing. Words were stuck in his throat. He felt like his chance was slipping away. 

“Then why the fuck didn’t you let them send me?” Liebgott raised his voice a bit. 

“Stop it. You’re gonna wake everyone.” David held a hand out. “I wanted to go.” His vision started to go hazy around the edges. “It was supposed to be me.” The words came out bitter. 

“Why?” Joe got right in David’s face, his cheeks flushed with anger. “Because you wanted to die?” David grimaced at the look on Joe’s face. In his madness he had spat words that he hoped would carve into Joe the rest of his life. “You wanted to make me guilty? Make me feel bad about this?” He gestured to Web’s injuries. “Well congratulations, college boy!” 

“Stop it!” David couldn’t yell, he was too tired, too wracked with guilt to throw venom laced words at Joe. “For fuck’s sake Joe. I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

“Do what?” David rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, you know what.” Joe stilled then, and to David’s horror he began to cry. Snot dribbled out of his nose, and Joe made a feeble attempt to clean himself up. 

“Goddamn it, Web.” He looked like a child, his dark eyes cloudy with distress.

“Joe, hey.” David tried to shush him, and patted the bed. “Okay, hey, come here.” To his amazement Joe actually sat down, the salty tears staining his face. He inhaled sharply, face pointing away from David. “Joe?” Web tentatively put an arm around Joe, who buckled and laid his head on his shoulder. 

“I’m really mad at you.” Liebgott sniffed. 

“That’s okay.” Webster had to smile at Joe’s stubbornness. 

“I thought you fucking died tonight.” Joe looked up at David’s startled face. “I thought you were Jackson.” 

“Shush for a second okay?” David stroked his hair. “Just calm down.” 

“You calm down.” Joe bit back defiantly, but took a deep breath in. He slowly settled down, but didn’t remove himself from David’s grasp. Web took that as a good sign. 

“Lieb?” David pushed Joe off his shoulder reluctantly. “I gotta tell you something.” 

“Okay.” Joe sounded sullen. When David failed to speak, he shot him a look. “What, David?”

“I want you to know that I’ll always volunteer to go in your place.” David cringed at his romantic prose. “I mean, Joe, look--I,” His stuttering was worse than the prose. 

Joe was smiling. “Yeah David?” 

Web made a face. “Since when do you call me David?” 

“Since right now, David.” He smirked again. Web was losing his concentration. “Are you going to be finishing any sentences anytime soon?” Lieb pointed to his watch. 

“Look, you’re important to me you piece of shit.” David flushed and looked away. There was a retort on Joe’s lips, but he pushed it away.

“David.” Joe pulled his head to David’s. Their chapped lips pressed together tightly. Joe put his hands around David’s protectively. Their breathing hitched, and David felt dizzier than ever. 

“Lieb, I’m sorry.” David swayed dangerously, and Joe cradled his head softly. 

“Yeah, me too.” He set about kissing Web’s cheeks, his eyelids and temples. Webster let him push him down onto the mattress. Respite from the throbbing in his head came as the soft, warm press of lips calmed David’s beating heart. 

“I don’t want to die.” Webster weaved his hands through Joe’s hair. Joe hummed and rubbed his nose along Webster’s jawline. He was situated in between David’s legs, softly grazing his hands anywhere he could find. 

“I know, that, honey.” David shivered at the nickname, letting himself surrender to the gentle caresses Joe was bestowing upon him. Joe put the back of his hand to David’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” He put space between their faces. 

“No.” But David pulled Joe’s face down to his, although it was blistering and feverish. Joe kissed him deeply, tongue gently prying at dry lips. Web’s eyes were heavily lidded, and his hands moved slowly through Joe’s hair.

“You’re going to fall asleep.” Joe was nodding, like a mother at a child. He grabbed David’s hands and held them up to his face. David stroked Lieb’s cheeks, feeling the faint stubble there. 

Webster fought to open his eyes, but failed miserably. He let his head fall to the side to Joe could place soft pecks on his neck, carefully maneuvering around the bruises he found there. Joe paused, guilt washing over him anew. It wouldn’t do any good and he knew it, but it didn’t stop the hurt from taking over. He took a breath to still himself, and went back to comforting David. 

“You can fall asleep.” Joe whispered in Web’s ear. “It’s okay.” He watched as David’s eyes fluttered, then shut decisively. His hands stilled and rested on Joe’s own. The air was quiet, and Joe slowly rolled off the bed. He sat with his back resting against the metal frame of the bed. 

Instead of feeling calm, he felt strained. He couldn’t bear to look at Webster yet, for fear that his heart would burst. He told himself that for now, in the silence of night, everything was okay.  

 


End file.
